He was not disappointed; a moment later the window opened, and Noémi looked out with a face radiant with joy. "My Michael," whispered the poor child.
"Yes, thy Michael," he murmured, clasping the dear head in both arms. "And Dodi?"
"He is asleep; hush, we must not wake him." And still the lips murmured tenderly, "Come in."
"He might wake and cry."
"Oh, he is no longer a crying child. Just think, he is a year old."
"What! a year already! He is quite a big fellow."
"He can say your name already."
"Does he really talk?"
"And he is learning to walk."
"Just fancy!"